Work song on foam steel

The work chant hit and the room stomped like the floor was real dirt. It is not. It is foam steel. The cadence still mattered. Period comedy after — dry feast-hall wit, not a standup bit about jump fees.

Ballad of the Lip waits for quieter chairs. Tonight was haul energy under fake rafters. I do not apologize for driving a room that came dressed for another century.

Play the Bardic cuts when you want Ee'la without a ticket. Leave modern slang at the lift.